


What Comes After Everything?

by mxmessages



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21595849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mxmessages/pseuds/mxmessages
Summary: Crowley has always seemed larger than life, filling the space around him with enough movement and energy and pure existence for five times as many people but now, after everything, he looks small and fragile, curled in on himself, head hanging heavy with the weight of what has been the longest day of their lives. And something in Aziraphale cracks.OrI'm soft for some hurt/comfort after the Apocanot and Crowley deserves a hug.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 121





	What Comes After Everything?

**Author's Note:**

> Hey first time posting a fic on here, let me know what you think!

Aziraphale watched as Crowley’s posture somehow managed to worsen beyond its usual nonexistence, and he might have suspected another demonic miracle if not for the sheer amount of power Crowley had expended that day. Keeping the Bently driving while wreathed in flames and stopping time were not small miracles by any means, and Crowley had looked exhausted even before that when he had found him in the bar- 

Its while sitting on a bus that’s sign says Oxford but will drive to London anyhow that it clicks into place. When Crowley had said he lost his best friend, the circle in the bookshop- oh the poor demon hadn’t thought he was discorporated at all! And when he had found the shop in flames he must have thought it was hellfire. 

Crowley has always seemed larger than life, filling the space around him with enough movement and energy and pure existence for five times as many people but now, after everything, he looks small and fragile, curled in on himself, head hanging heavy with the weight of what has been the longest day of their lives. And something in Aziraphale cracks. 

A well manicured hand slips easily over it’s demonic counterpart, finds its place like they were made for this, made for each other- and almost immediately the hand under his is wrenched away. 

Crowley jerks as if he’s touched a hot burner, except that the flames of hell burn so much hotter. More, then, like he’s touched a holy relic which, technically, Aziraphale is, but his touch has never hurt Crowley. 

“Sorry angel,” he mutters shakily, “always taking up too much space, me. Though there’s hardly enough room in these damn seats. Must’ve been one of ours.” 

Well. He’s never hurt Crowley physically anyways. 

Aziraphale doesn’t make another attempt to reach out to Crowley, not then. He has, he realized now, done far more harm to Crowley with his constant rejections than he had ever intended. Of course he knew Crowley loved him, and how could he ever not love him back, but if Heaven had known- if Hell had known- 

Well. Now Heaven knew, and Hell knew, and all his attempts to protect Crowley by holding back had failed anyway. And his demon, because Crowley had always been his demon, was afraid and hurting. 

He makes it until they reach Crowley’s apartment, until he sees the puddle of Holy Water and dissolved demon, until it hits him hard the terror Crowley must have felt at the idea of Aziraphale gone, and Crowley would never have known how he felt- 

The borders he’s built up break. He’ll fight off Hell tomorrow, somehow, and Heaven too but if anything is going to kill him it will be going another moment without Crowley knowing. 

Crowley’s rambling, something about the ansaphone or another when Aziraphale wraps his arms around the demon. He decides then that Gabriel is right, that he is soft, and that Gabriel can go fuck himself because that softness lets him hug the sharp edges and angles that make up Crowley in all the right ways. 

And he’s definitely sharp right now. Crowley goes entirely rigid and jerks as if Aziraphale had shocked him, but he doesn’t let go, just hugs his Crowley a little tighter. 

“Aziraphale-” 

“I could have lost you,” he warbles out, voice shaking. “The Holy Water- Crowley I could have lost you and you would never have known- my dear boy I didn’t mean it, any of it. Not today, not back in 1947.” 

A part of him wants to be cowardly, wants to tuck his head into Crowley’s chest and breathe the words into his heart, right into his heart where he won’t have to see the fear or, he’s terrified, the rejection. 

He makes himself pull back to say it anyway, because as much as he needs to say it Crowley needs to hear it even more. Crowley needs to see that he means it. So he keeps one arm wrapped around the demon who looks so uncertain, so utterly undemonic as he raises the other up to cup the cheek he has longed to kiss for years, trace under the eyes he adores. 

“I love you Crowley,” he whispers. “I’ve loved you for so long but I was afraid, afraid of Heaven, afraid of Hell, I was so afraid but I need you to know that I love you, that I never stopped my dear boy and I am so sorry.” 

Crowley is rigid, staring at him with the same intensity as when he had called him nice or good. But the reaction is very, very different. In a moment he has a chestful of Crowley pressing as if an inch of space between them might result in Aziraphale being ripped away, shaking as if he will come apart at the seams. And all Aziraphale can do is hold him, rub a soothing hand down that serpentine spine and bury his face in hair flaming brighter than the fires of hell itself. 

“Did- Aziraphale, don’t say it if you don’t mean it, if you’re not ready, please. I’ve tried- please angel-” he chokes out, and the angel presses a kiss to the demon’s temple. 

“I love you Crowley, it’s alright. I love you, oh do I love you my dear boy.” 

The sobs come then, loud and unrestrained, violent after being held back for so, so long. Aziraphale holds him through it, lets himself be the one to come to Crowley’s aid for once and is more than happy to do it, more than ready to soothe away the tears with gentle kisses and soft words, let the fear and doubt that has festered between them drain away like the poison it is. It leaves them both tired, both aching but better for it, like a wound cleaned out from infection. And it is then, when Aziraphale hugs Crowley a bit tighter, that far less metaphorical wounds makes themselves known as the demon hisses. Aziraphale starts backward, blue eyes wide and watery with guilt. 

“Oh my love I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to-” 

“‘S fine angel,” Crowley grits out. “Nothing you did, it’s from before-” 

“Well it’s clearly not fine, you’re hurt!” 

“It’s-” 

But Aziraphale is already tugging up his shirt, and Crowley’s limited speech capabilities erupt into flames as the angel’s hands come into contact with his bare skin. He might not remember much of heaven, but he knows Heaven had nothing on the wonderful perfection of those soft hands and the warmth- 

“Oh good lord!” 

Crowley looks down, not at all surprised to see the massive purple splotches fading to unpleasant shades of green and yellow up and down his sides. “That’s what happens when you get hit with a fire hose,” he supposes. 

“What?” Aziraphale gasps, and had he said that out loud? It had been a long day, after all. But it was ok, because Aziraphale was here, and Aziraphale was alive, and Aziraphale had said he loved him. Him! 

“Why don’t we get you to bed love?” 

Crowley lets guides Aziraphale towards his bedroom than stumbles down the hallways that ensures he opens the right door no matter which one he picks, and only hesitates a second at the door before Aziraphale is assuring him forward, helping him out his ash stained clothes, and helping him under the blankets. It’s wonderful, fantastic, but he’s a demon. He’s selfish. He wants. 

And he doesn’t need to ask. 

Aziraphale slips under the blankets on the empty side of the bed, and before Crowley can doubt himself Aziraphale pulls him into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of his head and making his whole body shudder. 

“I’m not going anywhere Crowley. I’ll be right here when you wake up.” 

With Aziraphale here, heartbeat decidedly real under his head there’s not enough fear to keep him awake and he’s slipping rapidly. But he has one more thing he wants to say. 

“Love you Aziraphale,” he whispers, and this time when a kiss is pressed to his head he smiles. 

“I love you too Crowley.” 

And maybe, maybe, someday soon he can believe it. For now, it’s enough to dream.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


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